


Ankh and Accountability

by gemothy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, but you can play spot the cameo if you like, nobody else makes a proper appearance in this fic, this is very silly tbh but i'm here to make jokes not sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: The new Patrician starts as he means to go on- great big dollops of social change disguised as little bits of good business sense.





	Ankh and Accountability

Ankh-Morpork was in need of a change. Again. Everyone agreed that while Lord Snapcase had indeed been a change, the last dozen years or so hadn’t been quite the kind of change they were after. So when his- er- _the_ time came, a few more unusual possibilities were considered to take over the role of Patrician. Then Madam had mentioned her nephew, and oh, wasn’t _that_ a good idea.

His father had been utterly useless, and now he seemed to be going the same way, more concerned with his books and his dogs and his silly little beard than with any of the business of politics. But his profile would look good on the money, and he’d taken to hanging around the palace whenever he wasn’t busy at the Guild- that was enough not to get lost in the corridors, if nothing else. Yes, he was young, but really, wasn’t that the point? Young men need… guidance. Support. A few older, wiser heads to steer them in the right direction. Anyway, that thing about the rat farms had been bloody good. That’d give him a bit of credibility even if he never said anything clever again.

And so, Havelock Vetinari was sworn in as Patrician of Ankh-Morpork two weeks and two days before his thirtieth birthday, skinny frame swamped by the formal robes of state that his predecessor had so suddenly left behind. He’d looked frightened halfway out of his wits at the time- something of a concern, to those with experience of previous Patricians- but he’d relaxed somewhat by the end of the day. So much so, in fact, that he’d promptly vanished- supposedly with Rosie Palm, but according to the rumours flying around he could have been with anyone from young Lady Ramkin to that angry little man from the Night Watch. This had occurred on the Saturday night, and nobody of note saw him again until the following Monday. Still, you couldn’t blame him for wanting to celebrate a bit. Plenty of Patricians had had worse hobbies than _that_.

After that, nobody had really expected much. A nervous, possibly hungover young man on his first real day in charge of a city was the most likely outcome, or at least the one most of the city’s influential men had hoped for. What they got was… well, not exactly that.

As people arrived for the first Council meeting on Monday morning, they were surprised to see that their new Patrician was, unlike the previous incumbents, already there. Not only was he there- at half-past eight in the morning, no less- but he was awake, drinking coffee, and already making extensive notes as everybody filed into the room. People whispered to each other about it as they took their seats; all of a sudden, the boy had Presence. It might have been the austere black outfit, or possibly just the really big chair, but somehow he already seemed much more sure of himself than he had done three days previously. Lord Vetinari finally looked up from his notes, and the entire room went silent.

“Good morning, ladies and gen- hm. Just gentlemen.” He made another note. “Interesting.” The lords and guild leaders around the table looked at each other. What was interesting about that? Should they be worried? Perhaps not, since their newly not-quite-elected-as-such leader was keen to get to work.

“So,” said the new Patrician, “Guild business first, I think- and the acknowledgement of the proposed new Guilds. Seamstresses, Thieves, and Beggars, all of whom have contributed extensively to the, ah, _colourful_ society we live in.”

Some brave soul, as yet unaware of just what he was dealing with, took the opportunity to speak. “Are- are you _sure_ , my lord?”

Vetinari turned, his puzzled frown suddenly seeming far less sincere than it had when he’d been given the job just a few short days ago. “That decision is in the hands of the Patrician, is it not?”

“It is, sir, you can _technically_ do as you wish in this matter. Within reason, of course.”

Vetinari smiled. Several people shifted further back in their chairs.

“Within reason. How lucky for us all, then, that it seems entirely reasonable to have all that money circulating in our economy _legally_ . Perhaps we might even get some tax revenue out of it, though I suspect that may be wishful thinking on my part.” His smile grew broader as he noticed an encouraging lack of eye contact. Nobody wanted to argue; young Havelock- sorry, His Lordship the Patrician- had been raised by a combination of the Assassins’ Guild and the formidable Roberta Meserole, and was therefore _extremely_ likely to know the state of everyone’s finances, official or otherwise.

“No complaints, I see. Excellent. What progress we make already! Now, moving _very_ swiftly on to the state of- well- the state, I must express my concerns about the lack of administrative staff available to me. Specifically, the lack of administrative staff who are alive and sentient as opposed to seven pot plants and a stuffed badger.” Vetinari looked around the room as though he was expecting something- possibly an explanation, but whatever it was, he must have been disappointed, because what he actually got was a room full of puzzled looks.

“Paperwork, gentlemen, requires efficiency, and while I have been doing my best to deal with my predecessor’s… system... there is, after all, only so much one man can do. Therefore, given the variety of religions, cultures, and indeed _species_ in our fine city, I have taken the decision to streamline a number of everyday processes. For example, one standard civil marriage regardless of species and gender makes things much easier for our growing dwarf community without affecting anyone else- except, of course, my remaining palace clerks, who won’t have to waste so much time on intrusive personal questions at the next census.”

A second voice, possibly less brave than the first but certainly as stupid, blurted out their feelings immediately. “You can’t do that!”

The Patrician raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Not five minutes ago I was told I could do what I liked.”

“The religions won’t like it.”

“I suppose there might be some issues, yes… Is the polygamous Djelibeybian sect still on the corner of Short Street? Perhaps we can arrange some sort of consultation.”

“Um… no, my lord, it’s more that some of them… well, the Omnians in particular might feel that if _everyone_ can marry then it’s no longer sacred. And as for the Nugganites, well…”

Lord Vetinari gave him a blank stare. “This is a legal matter.”

“But-”

“A legal matter, not a spiritual one. Frankly, whatever people want to _not_ do in the name of their various gods is of much less concern to me than the things they might encourage.”

The Council remained quiet. The clock ticked. There were no other questions that morning, or at least none that were quite so interesting. It was gradually trickling into people’s brains (and down the occasional trouser leg) that while Vetinari had appeared to be a perpetual student, sheltered from the reality of politics, he had done so _in the rooms of the Assassins’ Guild._

Still, nobody actually _died_ , so overall it was probably an improvement on the last meeting they’d had.

As people gradually left the room, somewhat less at ease than they had been on their way in, Lord Venturi sidled up to the Patrician and leaned in for a quiet word.

“I understand this is a private matter, but… may I ask, my lord, if this marriage business is about your er… personal preferences? We had heard that you spent your weekend-”

“You may not. As far as any of _you_ are concerned, when I speak in my professional capacity as Patrician, I don’t _have_ any ‘personal preferences’.” Lord Vetinari produced a small but wicked-looking knife from the gods only knew where and began to very carefully sharpen a pencil. He poked at the end of it, nodded, and smiled up at Venturi.

“Anyway, I’m sure you have plenty of other things to be getting on with when the city is still in such a vulnerable state.” He paused, twirled the knife in his hand, and let his smile broaden into the faintly unsettling grin from earlier that morning.

“Now, don’t let me detain you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Despite a lack of consensus in the fandom about whether or not Vetinari is already Patrician prior to his first named appearance in the books, there seems to be general agreement that he must have been fairly young when he got the job. This is just one of many ways it might have happened.
> 
> A quick note on the Guild mentions- given that Discworld chronology is notoriously wonky and Vetinari's known graduation date doesn't necessarily match up with Night Watch, I've just gone ahead and assumed he returned as a postgraduate student. It doesn't affect the story much, it just gets him into the right place at the right time.


End file.
